


New Year, Old Friends (The Lack of Turnip Kisses Remix)

by defeatedbyabridge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defeatedbyabridge/pseuds/defeatedbyabridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a new decade, but some things remain the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year, Old Friends (The Lack of Turnip Kisses Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondSilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/gifts).
  * Inspired by [New Year, Old Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/123719) by [SecondSilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk). 



It was always all about Remus. 

Well, except for when it wasn't. But that didn't sound half as romantic. 

* * *

Sirius sat next to Remus and waited patiently for him to wake up. OK, not so patiently. OK, not at all patiently, really. He managed to keep still for a good minute, to be fair, but after that he realised his leg was jiggling, and he was playing with his Moony's hair. The irritating thing was that even limp and sweaty and wrung out, Moony looked good. After he'd spent a while in _his_ other form, Sirius himself looked like something eaten by a bear and crapped off a cliff. 

"Must you be a morning person?" 

Remus hadn't moved. Eyes were still shut. Grinning, Sirius leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "It's eleven forty-three."

"Ah. Technically still in the a.m.," Remus pointed out carefully. He still wasn't moving. Sirius wasn't sure by now if that was more to do with how very crap he felt after being the wolf, or if it was more because he was an irritating git who liked to spoil other people's fun. 

'Course, it was perfectly possible that it was both. 

"Only if one must split hairs, but I'll grant you the point for now. By the way. I have pancakes."

One eye opened just a fraction, but it wasn't difficult to see the interest mixed with alarm. "Pancakes? You made them? You. Made pancakes?" 

"You sound like you have a concussion." 

Remus' eyebrows drew down together over his nose the merest tiny little bit. Sirius fought the urge to take his forefinger and squish the lumpy part in between his eyes. "Answer the question." 

"I bought pancakes," Sirius grinned, letting him relax. "Really, Moony. So little faith you have. You're a guest here, and I do expect better manners." 

Remus yawned, then sat up in a slow, careful movement that still had Sirius all too interested in the play of muscle under his pink and gold Wizard of Oz t-shirt. Muggle literature was always strange, but Remus had been amused by that particular film and just how many things they got wrong, so of course Sirius hadn't grumbled too much over him buying them matching shirts. With the utmost dignity, Remus said, "After the last time you prepared food, I'm entitled to a little wariness." 

Sirius stood, and held out a hand. "Everyone's allowed at least one fire in their lives." 

"Perhaps, but you were only making Marmite sandwiches, you git," Remus pointed out. He pulled the sheets aside and took Sirius' hand. The sheets were black, of course. _So pretentious, Sirius,_ drifted into Sirius' head, as did the following comment about how certain people who didn't technically live in a flat yet didn't technically get any say over the colours of the linen. 

Sirius hauled him smoothly to his feet. "Come on, you. Let's get your stomach full and get you mildly presentable before the party tonight." 

* * *

People started showing up at ten. 

Sirius nabbed Remus and went out for more supplies at eleven, wondering vaguely on the way out if one of his guests had some kind of dimensional transcendence charm. Surely his flat couldn't fit so many people.

They came back at half eleven with more beer, soft drink, and chips, having completely forgotten the toilet paper, and Sirius' eyes bugged out at the sight of just how many people were there now. But it was cool. It was great, even. 

"Sirius, did you invite everyone you've seen in the last month?".

Sirius grinned. "It's a party, Remus. It's the end of the decade. Explosions and alcohol and new friends. And old friends." He nudged his elbow into Remus' side, knowing certain people would prefer to be back in bed. But he'd stay up for Sirius' sake. 

He'd better. 

Remus muttered something about getting air, and padded his way towards the bedroom. Sirius protested, but followed him anyway, handing off bags to whoever was closest as he walked. It was a decent compromise between staying up and going to bed, he supposed, and besides. It was getting close to twelve. No way he was going to be close enough to certain other people to be grabbed this year. He still had the taste on his lips from whoever'd kissed him last year. No idea about the face, because he'd obviously been drunker than he'd realised, but if he ever sucked tongues with someone who tasted disconcertingly like turnips, he'd know. 

He wanted very much to avoid ever sucking tongues again with someone who tasted disconcertingly like turnips. 

It was nice out on the fire escape. Brisk as anything, but as there was no heating in the flat beyond warm bodies and too much alcohol, they were already dressed warmly. Remus had a little cap with ear flaps. He looked ridiculous. 

They leaned against the rail together, a few inches apart. There were little islands of light all the way through the city. Music, laughter, dancing. 

"You'll miss the countdown." 

Sirius said amiably,"Wormtail's in charge of that. He knows the charm and what the time is." He didn't mind missing bits and pieces of the party. Remus never seemed to get that. 

Right on cue, the charm sounded, and people started shouting along. He could hear people in the streets, too. 

TEN  
NINE  
EIGHT

Sirius took it all in, but his eyes, as always, came back to Remus. "Goodbye, 1979."  
SEVEN  
SIX  
FIVE  
FOUR

Remus turned and smiled at him, that fondly indulgent smile that said _I think you are very silly, and I love you anyway._

* * *

What Remus didn't seem to understand, never seemed to understand -- and Sirius found this annoyingly endearing, just like everything else about him -- was that he was the main purpose of _any_ gathering. Because he liked seeing his Moony around other people. 

He liked seeing him throw his head back in laughter when Eve made a terrible joke. Liked seeing him drunk out of his mind and so sure he wasn't showing it, listening intently as that tosser Wayne blatted on about some poet or another. Liked seeing him grin at Snail -- they'd known her so long Sirius had forgotten her real name -- or sling a companionable arm around James or walk through a room with Anastasia hanging off him half asleep. 

He also liked _not_ seeing him at parties. He loved his Moony. He also loved that they didn't need to be around each other every waking moment, and that they trusted each other. Meant he could keep up with his own friendships, too.

* * *

THREE  
TWO  
ONE  
 _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

Sirius leaned forward and brushed his lips across Remus', who responded by grabbing his shoulders and yanking him closer. There was an extremely enthusiastic tongue in his mouth, and it didn't taste like turnips in the slightest.

"Happy New Year." Sirius definitely wasn't breathing hard. He was a manly man, not at all affected by as simple a thing as kissing.

"Happy New Year," Remus agreed. Was that a smirk?

* * *

So, yes. It was all about Remus. Except when it wasn't. But that didn't sound half as romantic.


End file.
